we are
the eaters of bees
with our
swollen guts and
distended bowels,
strung out
on the sweetness
we search
for the adjuvant,
the honey,
for the miracle
of healing
and wellness.
we are
the bee eaters,
belligerent and
entitled.
in our ignorance,
for that sweet
elixir is not
found in the
belly of the bee
but rather
elsewhere.

i think my biggest problem
is envy. it is a stink
not easily gotten rid of.
it is petty and shitty
and ugly to look at.
it infects with an
overwhelming urge to
ignore it and deny
its foul presence
but it's there
poisoning the water
in my wishing well.

from here
i can see
for miles
and miles.
the rumpled
landscape
blown away
to dust
at the edges
and the days
seem to be all
short of
breath.
the ache
of the trees
and the birds
rattling through
my bones
and i pull
the dusky shroud
over my head
and around
my shoulders.
you look bemused
as you watch
me clamber up
those shorn hills
in search of
forgiveness.

and you smile
lightly, knowingly.
your heart ebbing
because every time
it is the same,
at first
the pain is
unbearable
and you are
convinced that
you will not
survive it.
that it is
an impossibility.
but then you
start to
crave it
and then
you start to
inflict
it.

i awake,
my blood
coagulated
and thick,
ebbs through
constricted
capillaries in
sluggish waves.

the chill creeps
its way along
the furs
and blankets
searching for
exposed flesh
to touch
or maybe
kill.

the light
in its recent
but perpetual
dimness struggles
through and into
the tented
dwelling,
and outside the
beasts gather.

with hoof
and horn
claw and
fang

i am no longer
welcome here.
my actions,
our actions,
have forced them
and the only gift
they offer
is vengeance.

motionless i wait,
my bleared sight
focused on upward,
into the thin light.
my hearing almost
useless barley
aware of their
panting.
my flesh
only knows
the frost.

i lay and
wait for
the generosity
of their gift.

the western wind
soft upon the beating
wing. whispers in
the plumage.
'forth, forth,
against me
you must glide.
i am the lift required
for the distance
you must travel.'
and as if by
instinct or some
unknown but felt
truth we tilt our
secondaries into
the whispering and
move toward the
gloaming distance.

the slow
and fragile
gliding
of this
parabolic arc
the humming
of the fast wing
a wavering heart
napping in
the numinous soil,
dreaming amidst
the whispering
of worms
and other soft
hissing noises.

the king is dead!!
has been
for a fortnight
probably longer.
but we ignore that
inconvenient fact and
stalwart our praise
of him against such
detractors as ourselves.

for to admit
and accept
that fact of demise
is to surrender
and retreat
into and with defeat.
and realize that we
are the captains
of our pain.

adrift with no anchor,
or hope, or wind
in our sail.
this sea
pitiless, deep,
and cold, and dark
beneath our
rotting plank.
patient and bottomless.

i am the baying
of the wolves at
pre dawn when that
shiver trickles up
your spine.

i am the late hours,
the hunger
suppressed,
a fevered insomniac
hallucination.

i am the pealing
of the night
bells.

when that ray of sunlight
slithers its way through
the fissure in my
dystopian dome,
it is a most terrifying of miracles.

i am the lesser version
of your expectations,
not quite the right shape
and size to fit
in that paradigm
you aggrandize.
bestow upon me a betterment,
a kindness and I will
disappoint you.

feign a blame on vanity,
inaccurate and reluctant.

watch out!!
for the gods, they
have become
careless. as the teeth
of dawn sink
into the night
and let your days,
where nothing your
hands do is correct,
and panic
and dither
settle everywhere
like dust, cascade
over your troubled dome.

and from them
silence, impenetrable
silence is offered
as the only appropriate
answer
to the begging
question, what will
become of me and
my stone heart.

the arrows cling
to my flesh
and the stones!
oh the stones,
they reverberate
through my
splintered bones.

i'm not sure i can handle
the past.
these quotidian visitations.
with all the aches and grief,
with all its remembered
panic and
worry and
woe.

although at this moment
its seeming simplicity
has a certain charm,
a slowly growing glow
emanating through the
memory centers of my brain.

it tricks the heart to skip
a beat, maybe two.
maybe tricks it to stop
altogether.

it is a grand seducer,
a known cozener. and
i fall for it often,
i fall for it now,
knowingly partaking in
the bane.

because the future
awaits smirking
with the blades
gleaming.

melancholia, or
the darkening
of the blood.

in the deepest
part of the night,
(3:23 a.m.
to 4:47 a.m.)
i take great
comfort in the
shape shifting
of my hemoglobin
to black bile.

the future
billows
into the winds,
whipping
the last trees.
and in the
lowly rustle
we lose our
way. marching,
oh so bravely,
into the delusion
of salvation
as our mountains
turn to storms
of sand.

you, supine
in your divinity,
as these perfect
days prove to
be our last.
and out hearts
give over to
chaos and
madness.

the sky ignites,
the waters
now still
and dead.
a grey ashen
murk.

those words,
come to us
from some
ancestral
recesses in
the turbid
encephalon
of our minds.

ignis letum

as the rest
of the flames
overtake our
homes and
flesh.

::: five postcards :::

this is
what i
become,
in this
space
as i fight
in the
insomniac
hour against
my shriveling
will

it radiates outward
from my center
something akin
to peace
that static droning
in my ears, my
mind. everything
in focus
the waves of
black light
crashing within
my chest and
i flow
with it

no longer do i
impede this
darkness,
i am the
darkness
i am the
world's broken
heart

as the light
goes out of
our eyes

we stare into
the bleak distance
and behold

the darkening
enormity of
our unfinished
dream

now the
winds
tear the
blossoms
from their
homes
out in this
wilderness
amidst the
wolves
and other
beasts

i've got birds
that soar
in my heart

that scream
into the
mountains

over the trees
and above
the festering
rivers

we turned back
and watched the
ashes in the sky,
our hopes lay
gasping and the
concrete burning
beneath our feet.

from the west
the winds
will tear
the sinew
from our bones.
in this
bleak light
our tattered
hearts rest.

and all this,
i did
while you slept

i sheared the mountains
i ignited the oceans

i filled your soul
with sorrow

i did this
i did this all
i am

the broken
arrow shaft,
poisoned tipped,

in your heart

let
the sky
fall
down
into the
inimical
and
jaundiced
ocean

let
the
mountains
burn
and the
fevered
world
gasp

in the
miscellany
of these
days,

i can
feel it
come

swelling,
gripping
my skull

tightly.
constricting
my breast.

choking
my soul.
disappointment

is a way,
is the way.
the ash

fills my eyes,
nose, throat.
breathe in

deeply.
my blood
thickens,

my heart
slows.
my vision

blurs, fades,
washes out.

the lie
is accepted.
morphing

into a truth,
into the truth.
our existence

now hinges
upon
it.